All language subtitles for sister.boniface.mysteries.s01e03.1080p.bluray.x264-carved_Track03_PGS-eng

MUSIC: "Lakmé, Act 1: The Flower Duet"
by Léo Delibes

HILARY:
Busty divorcee, fifties

seeks energetic male, any age

to share dinner, wine, and etcetera.

Box 19.

DOORBELL RINGS

HILARY: Shot her myself this morning,
no time for hanging.

Mid-season hen's best eaten

as soon as they come out of rigor mortis,
don't you agree?

Wait there. I'll go and scare up some gravy.

Few lumps

but the odd giblet's
not going to kill us, hey?

SHE CHUCKLES

Here's mud in your eye!

SHE CHUCKLES

Oh, I do like a man who can guess my size.

Ooh!

Ooh.

Not quite what I had in mind but...

I'm game if you are.

How many corners are there in a kitten?

SHE GIGGLES

How many, how many mittens in a rectangle?

SHE LAUGHS

Oh, these furry little blighters
are blurring into one.

Ooh!

Ooh, I think I might shut my eyes for a tick.

Morning, Sister.

Yes, good morning to you, Peggy.

Though, I doubt it's been a good morning
for our hapless milkman.

Oh, I know.
This is Terry's second old stiff this month.

Poor Terry.

Let's see if the unfortunate deceased
has her own tale to tell.

FELIX:
Hilary Sympson-Smythe, aged 58.

Likely cause of death,
coronary heart disease.

The jigsaw puzzle is "You Shall Have No Pie."

Based on the nursery rhyme
in which three kittens lose their mittens.

Yeah.
I'm familiar with the Mother Goose canon.

Hardly thrilling enough
to prompt a heart attack.

CAMERA CLICKS

Just me, or is there something
wrong with this picture?

Well, the picture and the puzzle.

Meaning?

Piece missing, bottom left.

Question is why would anyone
attempt a 200-piece puzzle

with a face covered in cold cream?

Why indeed.

The greasy pieces are
a puzzler's worst nightmare.

Alright, maybe not the worst,
but definitely top five.

Would you mind taking Peggy house to house?

See if anyone heard
or saw anything last night.

Sir.

Lily scent. Lanolin base note.

How long would it take
to do a 200-piece puzzle?

Ah, um...

Well, that can be expressed
as N multiplied by N.

So, a 200-piece puzzle
is four times as difficult as a 100-piece

while a 500 is 25 times harder
than a 100-piece.

The reason being
that one must compare each jigsaw piece

to "N" other pieces.

Quite a while.

SAM GRUNTS

Unless she had help.

And given that she's gone all out
on the frock, lipstick, and pearls

I'd bet that help was a gentleman caller.

Whoever was here
was certainly careful to tidy up.

I'll say. Not a print in sight.

Powdery residue on the coffee table, though.

Some on the sofa, too.

Tucked behind the bread bin.

Ah.

Someone should head down to the Bugle.

Hmm.
And I suppose that someone ought to be you?

I need to talk to you
about your lonely hearts.

Perfect timing!

You could take advantage
of our one-month-free offer.

For an investigation.

Obviously, I'd like to help

but the persons behind our personals
are confidential, Sam

I'm sure you understand.

Even if your personals
are linked to a possible murder case?

Keep talking.

It's strictly on the QT
that there was a woman found dead

with a jigsaw puzzle
and a face full of cold cream.

And you're suspicious because...

A hunch.

Do I get an exclusive?

Once I know what we're dealing with
and it's safe to go public.

Is that a yes?

SAM CHUCKLES
It's not a no.

Alright. Follow me.

COLIN:
Sympson-Smythe, Sympson-Smythe.

Ah, here she is.
— Oh, Colin, you're a diamond.

"Busty divorcee, fifties,
seeks energetic male, any age

to share dinner, wine etcetera. Box 19".
Hats off!

Fair to say Hilary was one of our more
enthusiastic customers.

Well, let's hope it wasn't the "etcetera"
that finished her off!

So, talk me through the system.

Someone places an ad, for example,
"lonely lady seeks tall handsome stranger".

Or "frustrated bachelor
seeks assertive successful woman".

They're assigned a box number.

All correspondence is checked
and forwarded every Thursday.

How soon can you get the names
and addresses of these men?

He described him as smart, upright,
grey-haired, and smoking a pipe.

Mr Arnold at the Honeysuckle Cottage saw him
when he went out to retrieve a pigeon.

A what?
— A pigeon.

Never mind.
You and Peggy need to start eliminating.

There's 34 names on that list.

Right, I shall begin.

As I suspected.

Diethylbarbituric acid. Please don't touch.

Diethylbarbituric acid.

Barbital in powder form, brand name Bentinal,
prescribed for insomnia.

Progress! Good man.

Oh, um, and if there was any doubt
about whether her death was suspicious

Hilary Sympson-Smythe had enough
in her system to fell a giraffe, so...

Hmm.

Right.

You've certainly earned
that snowball, Sister.

Reckon I've earned myself one too,
if you're buying.

Evening, Sister.

Hello, Ruth.
- I thought you always bought your own?

Sometimes a girl likes to leave
her principles at the door, Sam

you know that.

I'll do the honours, what'll it be?

The usual, thanks.

I knew there was something
about your mystery that rang a bell.

Alice Croft, died at home, on May 9th,
supposedly of natural causes.

Oh, yes, Mrs Croft,
the local councillor if memory serves?

RUTH:
I interviewed her daughter for the obit.

She said how tragic it was that Mother
didn't get to finish her new jigsaw puzzle

"The Madonna of the Yarnwinder".

Apparently, the family took great comfort

from the fact that the Holy Mother
was somehow "with her" when she passed.

Interesting, but it's not necessarily a link.
- RUTH: Agreed.

Which is why I called
and asked a couple more questions.

It seems Alice Croft was wearing cold cream
when she was discovered.

Oh, gosh.

I don't suppose she was...
- RUTH: A lonely heart?

"Buxom from Bath.
Attractive mature widow, fit fifties

seeks energetic male for frisky fun. Box 22."

Sam, you need to let me go to press.
— Not yet.

Why the hell not?

Sorry, Sister.
- No, no, that's quite alright.

Pretend I'm not here.

Going public will cause mass hysteria
and scare the killer back into the woodwork.

Then let's hope for your sake
he doesn't strike again.

I wouldn't want that on my conscience.

...Strictly entre nous.

One gets tired of being in the same position,
week in week out.

I've you to thank
for opening my eyes to new possibilities.

The pleasure was all mine, Mrs Clam.

THEY BOTH LAUGH
— SAM CLEARS HIS THROAT: Morning.

I'll, um, freshen the teapot.

Thought I would send WPC Button out

to check the sale
of jigsaw puzzles in the area.

Right. Good.

Anything else you want to tell me about?

Presuming Cyril isn't listening in
from beyond the grave.

MRS CLAM:
There you are.

Sergeant Livingstone
needs his strength building up.

I'm not sure I want to know what for.

You're honestly not insinuating...
- What?

I have joined Mrs Clam
and the bell-ringers of St Michael's Church.

Oh, praise be.

HE CHUCKLES
Why didn't you tell me?

And have you make a mockery of me?

Would 1?

I think it's great.

So, if I join the bell-ringers,
would I get sausages too?

Have mine.

The British banger
is a taste I have yet to acquire.

SAM SCOFFS

Watch out.
Now Mrs C knows you're a joiner-inner

she'll be trying to join you up
to the G-SADS.

The G what?

The Great Slaughter Amateur
Dramatics Society.

Sorry, line?

Wait... Got it!

It's true, you love me,
with every step of the waltz.

The Merry Widow was last year, Dottie.

Let's take five to revisit the script,
shall we?

And try to not just say the lines
but feel them in our core.

Rudolpho?

My core feels
there's some impropriety going on.

Honestly, I don't see why
we can't do a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan

or Noel Coward
if one insists on being "modern".

Hello. New blood?

Certainly not.

SAM:
Looking for Colin, if he's around?

I know exactly where he is.

He's either in the lav
or adjusting the lights or...

Sorry, who were you looking for?

Morning, officers. Everything alright?

SAM: Just a quick word please.
— Of course.

IDA:
Don't keep him too long.

Chaos descends
if Dottie doesn't have a prompt.

Again, from page 66, please, G-SADS!

Sorry to interrupt whatever this is.

Ah. Dostoevsky. Crime and Punishment.

Mother's quite ambitious.

The cast have been great sports
about it so far

although she hasn't told them
about the unitards yet.

We just wanted to check something with you.

Confounded white residue.
From the coffee table.

Subjected it to every test in Christendom

yet it stubbornly refuses
to be any familiar chemical compound.

This test is my last hurrah.

Fingers crossed.

Oh! That is unexpected.

What am I seeing?

Plain as a pikestaff.

Polyhedral granules,
central hilum a five-rayed cleft.

Cornflour!

Of course, what was I thinking?

So, why is it scattered
all over our crime scene?

Thickening the plot, perhaps?
- THEY CHUCKLE

Any insights into the world of lonely hearts?

Well, thanks to Colin we now know Alice
and Hilary both dated two of the same men.

Yes. Box 22, Major Roger Travis

aka the "Major Heart-Sing."

And Box 30, retired chemist Professor...

Claude.
— Claude Several, aka "Bunsen Burner."

Ouch!

A man after my own heart.
Interest purely professional, of course.

Good old Colin.

Yeah. Good old Colin.
- Yeah... yeah.

Ah. The pensive pause.

Something a bit
obsessive about him, don't you think?

With the pocket squares
and the pernickety systems.

Does rather depend on one's own benchmark
in regard to efficiency and grooming.

I suppose he does have a connection
to both women.

Exactly.

Time to make some house calls.

PROFESSOR SEVERAL:
I only met each lady the once

and they were but two of many.

So, you consider women interchangeable,
is that it, Professor?

Actually, I'm a sufferer of prosopagnosia.

A condition that renders one—-
— Unable to recognise faces, even one's own.

PROFESSOR SEVERAL:
Very good, Sergeant.

So, I differentiate women by smell.

Smell?

I can detect different blood types, in fact.

Hilary was B-positive.

Quite a rare one, that.

HE SNIFFS

HE EXHALES DEEPLY

O-negative.

We think the perpetrator
may have had pharmacological knowledge.

If you're suggesting
I use my expertise to drug women...

I can assure you
I've no need of chemical intervention.

Of any kind.

Where were you
the night before last, Professor?

A partial eclipse, if I'm not mistaken.

Are you given
to lunar distractions, Inspector?

No.

And yet, even rational men such as ourselves

can't help but feel
the eternal tango of the cosmos.

Where were you
the night of June 13th, Professor?

I was at a fundraising dinner
for cripples in Mombasa.

I'm a passionate and vigorous campaigner.

And you can prove that?

My passion and vigour?

No. Your whereabouts, Professor.

No.

But I have every confidence that you can.

FELIX:
You're sure he'll be here?

Half a pint of stout at 5.45.

Word is you can set your watch
by Major Travis.

SAM CLEARS HIS THROAT
Major Travis?

Yes?
— Sorry to bother you.

We are investigating an incident,
night before last.

Must be serious

if you're inconveniencing
law-abiding citizens on a Saturday?

Indeed. Just a couple of questions

then we'll let you get back
to your racing pages.

Fire away then,
Detective Inspector Gillespie.

Where were you the evening of June 13th?

I was here until 6.30 sharp,
then I walked home.

Straight home? Any stops? Deviations?

I may have taken the scenic route,
via the lake.

Did you see or speak to anyone
that could verify that?

No.

My shrapnel injury was causing discomfort,
so I turned in early.

And yet, you may have taken
a scenic route as a detour?

I don't recall.

That's the trouble with war wounds.

They tend to manifest without warning
at inconvenient moments.

SAM:
Well, excuse the "inconvenience", Major.

We'll be in touch
if there's anything further.

Obviously, I would take on a male role

but the beard glue brings me out in a rash.
—- GATE CLANGS

Ooh. That was the front gate.

Mrs Clam, got to go.

See you and Dottie
for the read-through in the morning.

LOIS:
Comely wallflower, 52, hoping to bloom.

Better late than never.

Are you my sunshine?

Will respond to all.

DOORBELL RINGS
- Box 31.

Morning!
Queen of the kitchen, as promised.

Don't tell the vicar but it's my new Bible.

Once you've served coleslaw in a wine glass,
there's no going back.

Ooh, I love a buff Orpington.

Morning, thespians.

Right. I've colour-coded everyone's parts.

I'm green. Dottie, you're pink.
Lois, you're blue.

Lois.

You're blue.
- I'm pink.

Blue...

Oh dear!

Lois? You're...

WOMAN SCREAMS

What kind of miscreant could do such a thing?

You've had a terrible shock.

SHE SOBS

I'll take you home
for a cup of tea, Mrs Clam.

Or something stronger.

Any thoughts to the time of death, Sister?

Well, um, I'd estimate between
8 and 11 in the PM.

No one could have seen this coming.

And yet the same MO.

The cold cream, the cornflour,
the missing jigsaw piece. Why?

Hmm.

Well, my guess is the cold cream
is to render the victim faceless, anonymous.

Unable to judge his actions.

Certainly, a troubled psyche at work.

To hell with his psyche.

He's a sick opportunist

using the lonely hearts
to prey on unsuspecting victims.

Yes, well,
we still need to understand the motivation.

It's not sexual, but...

he obviously
likes to spend time with his victims.

I don't need to understand him,
I just need to catch him.

HE SIGHS
I need some air.

SAM:
Sister?

Yes.

SAM:
Sister?

Look.

I'd say someone took off their muddy shoes
before entering the house.

Must have dropped it out of the tread.

A stout walking shoe, I'd wager.

How do we know it belonged to the murderer?

Well, given that it rained yesterday evening
for the first time in weeks

and that Lois isn't the kind of housekeeper
to allow any speck to go un-scrubbed

I'd say extremely sure.

What is that? Some type of grass?

Barley, by the looks.

It won't tell us who our Killer is,
but it'll certainly tell us where he's been.

He was lying, Professor Several.

Our Bunsen Burner?

FELIX:
That charity event?

Two eyewitnesses saw him leave
straight after the canapés.

And the night that Alice died?

Claims he was at some silent retreat
in... Lord Pasternack's folly. Alone.

Hardly watertight.

I think we should pay the professor a visit.

Sure I can't tempt you to a Bloody Mary?

Or a virgin, if you prefer?

Thank you, no.

Where were you last night, Professor?

Tucked up in bed with Odette and Pamela.

My cats.

Reciting Plutarch together.
Siamese are very vocal, you know.

This fundraiser on June 13th.

You were seen leaving early.

Ah.

It's time
for some unembroidered facts, Professor.

Um...

It, it's true. I am dishonest.

And weak. A slave to temptation.

I was not alone.

The charity treasurer
and I went to The Little Grange Hotel.

Why did you lie?

Because the lady in question
is a local magistrate.

Wouldn't do for her reputation to be sullied.

SAM:
Three women have been killed, Professor.

Your lady friend's reputation
is the least of my worries.

It's true.

The receptionist signed him in,
and checked him out the next morning

and delivered, at various intervals,
a bottle of absinthe

two hairnets, and a plate of Welsh rarebit.

No accounting for taste.

Indeed not.

As for Colin, he left a rehearsal at 6.45

took the train to Bunnington

and alighted at Little Sockford
for a harpsichord recital.

Anyone see him?
— The conductor clipped his ticket.

He returned home at 22h00

bidding goodnight to the scoutmaster
before heading up the front path.

And I bet he could tell us the colour
of the scoutmaster's shoelaces.

FELIX:
I daresay.

SAM SIGHS

Which leaves the Major.

Any progress on that footprint?

Matter of fact, yes.

So, the large structures are tree seeds,
some sort of conifer.

Combined with the barley fragments
and fungal spores

we're looking at a specific time and place.
A pedological photograph, if you will.

A photograph of what?

Well, we'd have to sample mud
from barley fields in the area

but if we can locate the same profile...

We'll know who the Killer is.

Let's go and see
if the Major's got any mud on his shoes.

"Honest, loyal, ex—-army gentleman of means

seeks warm-hearted lady for companionship
and home fires".

A lady like Alice Croft.

Or Hilary Sympson-Smythe.

Or Lois Mason.

For the umpteenth time,
I have never met these women.

Mud was found in Lois Mason's porch.

The remnants
perfectly match the tread of your shoes.

As they no doubt would
the shoes of everyone else

who owns the same ubiquitous brand.

Awfully clean, aren't they,
given that you live in a rural area?

HE SCOFFS
Well...

you can take the man out of the army...

Seems you've discovered my footwear
is as clean as my conscience

so you're clutching at straws, Inspector.

SAM SIGHS HEAVILY

You visited Gravestock's newsagents
two days before Hilary was murdered.

What did you buy?

I believe it was a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw of what?
- MAJOR TRAVIS: No idea.

One with a picture on it.

Who for?

My Aunt Edith.

And if you'd done your job

you would have found out
that I also bought a birthday card

and some parcel string
in order to post it to her for her birthday.

As I do every year.

What's with
the jigsaw puzzle fixation, Major?

Come now, Inspector.

Once a lady's fertile
and attractive years are behind her

what else is there for her to do?

Now, unless you've some actual evidence,
Inspector Gillespie

I shall take myself home for supper.

HE SIGHS
Good day.

SAM SIGHS

DOOR SLAMS

I had to just watch him walk out.

It's unconscionable, I know,
but we simply have no proof.

Apologies, Mrs Clam,
lost our appetites somewhat.

No, I must apologise.

I seem to be ruining breakfast,
lunch, and dinner ever since...

Don't worry, Mrs C, no one's noticed.

Awful to think
that Lois opened her heart to that man

only to fall into his terrible trap.

Wait... That's it. A trap.

We send the Major an invitation
from a fake admirer

we wait for him to crack out the Bentinal,
and then we catch him in the act.

With respect, not only
are those ethics somewhat dubious...

Sod the ethics.

...but what woman in her right mind

would submit herself
to such a dangerous endeavour?

I shall do it.

Mrs Clam, no.

Nonsense, I insist.

If I can prevent another lone woman
from being murdered, then--

That's absolutely courageous of you

but it would be risky and dangerous—-
- You're on.

Good. I shall see to the custard.

She's perfect.

Are the Great Slaughter Police
really so under-resourced

that we would use a civilian
in a honey trap operation?

SAM CHUCKLES

You said "we".

What?
— Seems you're one of us now.

So, what do we think?

There must be something here
between "milkmaid" and "Moulin Rouge".

I should jolly well hope so.

Right.

Let's cook the Major up an invitation
he can't refuse.

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT
So, how would you describe yourself, Vera?

Tidy, church-going, spinster.

Put "trim, ballroom-dancing, bon viveur".

SISTER BONIFACE:
Oh, very good.

The voice of an expert.
SHE CHUCKLES

Don't, don't forget, he has a type.

Put "curvaceous and homely,
likes hugging and baking".

Dreadful.
- Perfect.

COLIN:
I had my suspicions about that Major.

Do you know, he gets more letters
than any other lonely heart

even "Strong, Good with Livestock",
and "Tap-dancing Romeo"?

Focus, Colin,
that Marcel isn't going to wave itself.

Sorry, Mother.

Ready when you are.

Think this'll work?
— SISTER BONIFACE: What's your worry?

Well, just that a honey trap requires,
well, you know, honey?

COLIN:
Ready?

SHE WOLF-WHISTLES

Hell's bells, Mrs C!
Where've you been hiding that figure?

I'll thank you
to rein in the profanity, Ms Penny.

Roger that.

Tempted to say that what you've both achieved

leaves the loaves and fishes
somewhat in the shade.

We make a great team, don't we, Colin?

The best.

MRS CLAM:
“Dear Major Heart-Sing

That's it, Mrs C, really work it!

MRS CLAM:
I noticed your advertisement...

RUTH:
Blow us a kiss!

MRS CLAM:
...and wish to invite you for supper.

Though somewhat beyond
the first flush of youth

I'm told
I still have a certain twinkle in my eye..."

MAJOR TRAVIS:
Dear Vera.

I hope you won't think me forward
in calling you by your Christian name?

So enchanted was I by your letter
that I feel we are already friends.

Needless to say

I should be delighted
to accept your invitation.

Bear in mind that barbital has no antidote,
lethal dose is a mere 55 grains.

Do not drink the sherry.

Otherwise, we shall have to do you
the dubious honour of gastric lavage.

How about a roleplay? Shall we, roleplay?

SHE CLEARS HER THROAT:
So, um, I'll be Major.

Um, imagine that the date is going swimmingly

and I'm about to strike.

Ooh.

SISTER BONIFACE CLEARS HER THROAT

SHE MIMICS THE MAJOR:
Er, splendid vol-au-vents, Vera.

Oh.

Do have another, Major.

Oh. Don't mind if I do.

Mmm.

Time for a top-up, wouldn't you say?

Now, you'll need a reason
to excuse yourself for a moment.

I think I need a lie down.

Well, don't come on too strong.

No, I think I really do need a lie down.

Might I suggest that if things get too much

Mrs Clam could utter a safe word
and then we will intervene.

Yes. Good idea.
I like the word "somnambulant".

Or "owls".
—- A word that's germane to the scenario.

Well, can't I just say "help"?

"Macaroni", the safe word is macaroni.

Macaroni.

Macaroni...

DOORBELL RINGS
- MRS CLAM YELPS

Courage, Vera, that's just Peggy,
we've some digging to do.

Godspeed, all.

Macaroni... Macaroni.

Chin up, old thing, only nine more to go!

Nine fields and only one of you, Sister.

Yes, I do sometimes think
an extra one or two would help.

One of me could do the carrying.

Another could do the map-reading.

I can do the measuring.

I shall be in charge of digging!

I'll gather samples.

Ooh, put me down for tea and tiffin!

You alright, Sister?

Yes! I suppose it has been a long day.

Perhaps it's time for a slice of Battenberg?
— Now you're talking.

DOORBELL RINGS

Vera.

Major.

You're even prettier in person.

SHE SCOFFS
Nonsense.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

May 1?

Um... Yes, certainly. Ah, do come in.

MAJOR TRAVIS:
Of course, they prefer to be shown no mercy.

I cut their heads off

bury them in my cellar

then dig them up
when the time is right.

What?
- The tubers.

The dahlias.
I grew them myself, something of a hobby.

Tell me about your interests.

I imagine your foxtrot is quite something
from the looks of you.

My foxtrot is strictly off-limits!

Erm... sciatica.
— Ah, my sympathy.

I fear my dancing days are also behind me.

But...

still plenty of lead in my pencil,
so to speak.

MRS CLAM CHUCKLES NERVOUSLY

I shall just, um, pop on some Mantovani

and then go and warm the oven.

That one's number 17.

Yes. Some intriguing nematodes,
but not what we're looking for.

OK. Next?

Number nine.

Bit like a very boring game of bingo.
— SISTER BONIFACE CHUCKLES: Yes.

Oh! Bingo, Peggy, my girl!

Number nine? That's Crooked Mile Field.

So, itis. Yes. Um...

Oh my.

Didn't leave your wellies in the rain again,
did you, Sister?

SISTER BONIFACE:
No, Peggy.

I fear a far greater oversight has occurred.

Aren't we supposed to go in?

We need to let it play out.

Abort!

Abort! Abort!
—- Really?

Abort!

Abort! Abort!

SAM: We're in the middle of a—-
— The killer isn't Major Travis!

What?
— Or rather, it is Major Travis

just not that one.

Mmm. HE CHUCKLES
-Oh!

Oh gosh, you weren't wrong.
You certainly are nimble.

Macaroni.

Macaroni!
— I think dinner can wait, don't you?

MRS CLAM YELPS

You may consider me easy pickings, Major

but you will not indulge
your hideous perversions in my parlour.

Excuse me?
- MRS CLAM: Yes!

I belong to a generation of unwed women
who've been put out to grass

but we shall not be silenced,
and we shall certainly not be murdered!

HE CRIES OUT

FELIX:
Mrs Clam!

Yes, let's... let's find you a towel.

So, this is the field that the mud's from?

Mm-hmm. Crooked Mile Field.

And the railway line
cuts right through the middle.

So, he makes sure
that the conductor stamps his ticket

and then he gets off the train a stop early.

And then headed back to Lois's
across country.

But I simply can't see
how Colin's been passing himself off

as Major Travis?

Not to mention he's 20 years too young.

Colin!

You mean "hair and makeup" Colin?

The architect
of my lonely hearts persona?

Let's make some tea, shall we?

MRS CLAM:
Ooh. Tea, yes, of course.

Oh, of course!

The cornflour, to whiten the hair!

Yes!

I expect Colin's been studying the Major
for some time

learning his mannerisms and whatnot.

Quite the performance.

A tragedy at that.

Time for his curtain call.

Oh!
SHE GIGGLES

TELEPHONE RINGS

Yes?

Well, he's not at his desk.

SHE SIGHS
Fine, give me a sec.

Proofs... proofs...

COLIN:
Panic over.

Paper's been put to bed safe and sound.
— Splendid.

Everything alright?

Never better.

IDA LAUGHS

IDA: You'll have to catch me first!
- KNOCK ON DOOR

Oh, get lost, Colin!
It's not even nine o'clock.

Mrs Sweet? It's Inspector Gillespie.

Uh, is Colin not at home?

No, I told him...

asked him, to stay out.

One-to-one rehearsal.

It's a very... challenging scene.

Do you have any idea where Colin is?

No.

SAM SIGHS

Looking for these?

I believe you have something of mine.

Perhaps we could do an exchange.

And what if I say no?

Are you going to do to me
what you did to those other women?

COLIN CHUCKLES:
Oh, heavens, no!

You're not at all the Major's type.

RUTH CRIES OUT

You're nothing but a coward.

RUTH GRUNTS

Colin, please...

SAM:
Ruth! Stop!

RUTH GASPS FOR BREATH
- MEN GRUNT

Show's over, Colin.

COLIN:
Get off me!

Take him away.

RUTH PANTS

FELIX: You are not obliged to say anything
unless you wish to do so.

But what you do say may...
— Slow, gentle breaths, old thing.

SAM PANTS:
Ruth...

SHE PANTS:
I'm fine.

Nothing worse than a broken fingernail.

I'm so sorry I let that happen to you.

RUTH PANTS

So, Rudolpho came on the scene...

and you were jealous. Angry.

You felt replaced. Betrayed.

He hasn't even learned his lines.

Where did you get the Bentinal from?

COLIN:
Mother had a stash.

I remember watching her take it at bedtime,
always the same teacup.

The... The lily scent of the cold cream.

The bliss on her face
as she drifted into oblivion.

So, the cold cream
wasn't about making your victims anonymous

it was about turning them into Ida?

A version of Ida that you could control.
Like she controlled you.

Mother never forgave me.

For what?
— She had ambitions.

Shaftesbury Avenue, Broadway.

But Father ran off
and she had to ditch it all to look after me.

Times were tough.

She was good at spotting talent
and my talent was jigsaw puzzles.

She'd started drinking heavily,
the prize money was a lifeline.

Second place means you lost!

TIMER RINGS

Let's not let nerves
get the better of us again, shall we?

It's a sad story,
but people have worse mothers than yours.

You don't see them
plying women with barbiturates

and watching them die.

But, you know,
I'd never hurt mother.

I love her.

In spite of how she's been carrying on.
Honestly, it's unseemly.

"Unseemly"?

Three women are dead.

Ooh, dear.

You're, you're hurting.

You feel you failed.

We've so much in common.

No, we're done.

And you're in jail.

Hopefully, for the rest of your life.

COLIN LAUGHS

I don't fear incarceration.

After all, a lock is just another puzzle.

Put the pieces in the correct order
and it's...

open sesame.

Ready?

Not bad news, I hope?

It's from the Major.

Oh dear. Dry cleaning bill?

May 1?

"Dear Vera.

So taken was I by your pluck and fortitude

not to mention
your delightful hors d'oeuvres

that I would wish to see..."

"See you again".

There's only one man
that I want to see again.

Today would have been Cyril's 70th birthday.

I expected to be surrounded by children
and grandchildren by now.

He was a brave man.

The bravest.

And the best.

He would have been proud of you.

MRS CLAM SNIFFLES

Come along,
those bells aren't going to ring themselves.